


Aria, Scored for Gunfire and Steel

by THE_EVIL_CLIFFIE



Category: The Shadow Campaigns - Django Wexler
Genre: (Almost), F/F, Foreplay, Swearing, Violence, shagging in an opera box
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 17:49:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7693768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/THE_EVIL_CLIFFIE/pseuds/THE_EVIL_CLIFFIE
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dates at the Opera are supposed to be simple - but this, after all, is Vordan. Nothing's ever simple. Especially not when there's a cadre of counter-revolutionaries gunning for the Deputies-General and a company of Hamveltai mercenaries backing them up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aria, Scored for Gunfire and Steel

**Author's Note:**

> Set between The Shadow Throne and The Price Of Valour.

The Vordan Royal Opera House loomed over the rain-slick cobbles of Farus’ Triumph, glittering like demon gold. The carriage had cost Jane more than twice what it would have before the Revolution, but Winter thought it was probably worth it. Jane had pulled her out of the barracks at Ohnlei (almost literally) two hours before, and the heavens had opened ten minutes after they’d left the palace grounds.

Jane rushed across the square to the overhang above the Opera House doors, fat raindrops plastering her hair to her head. Winter followed, only slightly slower, glad of her heavy uniform. It had been near-hell in Khandar, but it was good for keeping off the rain.

“So,” she said, after they’d both reached the doors, “are you going to tell me why we’re here?”

Jane grinned a firebrand grin at her, her eyes shining.

“I don’t want to ruin the surprise,” she said.

“Jane, the army marches next week. I have things I need to prepare–”

“Winter, love,” Jane said, stepping close and taking Winter’s hand. “If there’s anything you’ve missed, it’s not worth worrying about. Vordan won’t miss you for a night.”

“A night at the Opera?” Winter asked, peering through the glass in the doors. She was surprised they hadn’t been smashed in the chaotic first few days of the Revolution. On the other hand, the Opera House had guards in fine red livery, one of whom was watching them suspiciously.

“There were a couple of tickets in the desk,” Jane said. “Addressed to Captain Jakub Hessch.”

“And you stole them,” Winter said, quietly. Jane chuckled.

“Well, he wasn’t going to use them, was he?”

That was true, Winter had to admit. The captain of the Noreldrai Greys was currently in the Vendre, awaiting trial before the Deputies-General. Winter and Jane had been living in his apartments for nearly a month, and Winter had made it a project to sort through his papers for anything important. She’d obviously missed the Opera tickets.

“So,” Jane said, pulling her by the hand towards the doors. “Do you want to be Captain Hessch, or Lady bet Hellae?”

“It’s probably best if I’m the Captain,” Winter said. “You don’t look much like a Lady bet anything, though.”

Jane turned, a look of overblown outrage on her face.

“How _dare_ you, captain?” she said, fluttering her eyelashes at Winter. “I’ll have you know I am the model of aristocratic _fucking_ decorum!”

Winter couldn’t help it; she burst out laughing. Jane pulled her through the door, grinning. Some of the attendants looked at them, clearly unaccustomed to people lacking the proper seriousness of the aristocracy. The atrium was clad in pink marble, gold filigree, and red velvet. Footmen in livery and waiters in dark waistcoats stood around the walls, being unobtrusive as possible.

The place was built for hundreds of people at once, but Winter could only see a dozen at most. That made sense; most of the aristocracy had withdrawn to their estates, and most of the other people who’d be able to afford the Opera had either fled, lost their money in the Revolution, or were too busy preparing for the war Vordan now found itself in.

She shivered, despite herself. They marched in a week. To the east, if the rumours were true. Back to the battlefield, to smoke and fire. She’d have to watch her soldiers die.

She suddenly found herself very glad Jane had dragged her away, and squeezed her hand.

Ahead of them, a pair of attendants fluttered around a group of black-sashed Deputies in the sombre mourning clothes favoured by the Conservatives. A pair of blue-coated soldiers slouched behind them, their uniforms clean but worn by marching. One looked familiar, and Winter found herself frowning, trying to place him. He wore a corporal’s pins on his shoulders, and his brown hair was shaggier than regulations allowed. His musket hung by its strap over his shoulder, rather than in the arm-deadening upright grip prescribed by the _Manual of Arms_. There was a gash in the wood about halfway along, as if he’d stopped a sword-blow with the thing. He didn’t seem to be paying attention to anything in particular

“Sirs, if you would please follow me,” the attendant said. “Your box is waiting.”

The deputies hurried out, the two soldiers following. Another attendant fluttered silently over to Winter and Jane.

“May I help you, sir and… madame?” He seemed puzzled by Jane. An old blue overcoat, dockworker’s vest and the striped fabric trousers she wore probably weren’t the typical wear for opera-goers, Winter thought.

 _It’s not going to work_ , Winter realised. If Captain Hessch had truly been a regular at the Opera, the attendant would know that Winter wasn’t him. Plus, she wore a Royal Army uniform, rather than the braided and gilded uniform of the Noreldrai Greys.

“Captain Winter Ihernglass,” she said, as briskly as possible, hoping Jane would follow her lead. “This is… Deputy Verity.”

Technically, that wasn’t true. After the defeat of Orlanko, the Deputies had passed a law stating that no member of the Royal Army could hold office in the Deputies, and vice-versa, to prevent “the violent overthrow of the democratic body by unscrupulous agents”. That meant that both Winter and Jane had lost their seats in the Deputies, although neither had particularly regretted that.

Still, introducing her as ‘Deputiy Verity’ would probably work better than ‘Lieutenant Verity’, and anyway, Winter felt slightly less guilty calling her that. It wasn’t in the rules anywhere – she’d checked – but Winter was pretty sure you weren’t supposed to sleep with your subordinates when you were an officer.

The attendant’s eyes widened, and Winter could see him reassess them. Jane’s attire could be filed as a radical deputy’s attempt to connect with the ‘Common People’, and while it might not be common for a radical to go to the opera with a member of the Royal Army, it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility.

“We have tickets,” Winter said, handing him Hessch’s stolen ones.

The attendant read them and frowned. He looked back up at Winter, who gave him the cool, unconcerned look she’d begun to think of as the Officer’s Stare. He swallowed, looked down, and nodded.

“Of course, Captain,” he said. “Your box is this way, if you will follow me.”

He led them through quiet hallways carpeted and hung with red velvet. The marble on the walls gave way to gilded plaster, and by the time they were at the right level there was almost no-one else about. A maid went past, holding a tray, but otherwise the place was deserted. Eventually, they reached the doors to their box – dark wood, polished to a shine, brass locks gleaming in the lamplight.

The attendant stooped ostentatiously and unlocked the doors, then asked: “Is there anything I can get for you, Captain, Madam?”

“Some champagne, please,” Jane said, before Winter could decline. Winter managed to stop herself from choking, but only just. If the attendant noticed, he didn’t show it. He bustled off, while Jane grabbed her hand and almost physically pulled her into the box.

“What the _hell_?” Winter hissed as soon as they were safely alone. “Neither of us can afford champagne!”

“I know what I’m doing,” Jane said, grinning. “How many people d’you reckon are buying champagne now? It’ll be a hell of a lot cheaper. Plus, I also found these in the apartment.” She held up a little leather wallet and shook it, producing a soft jingle.

“A few eagles isn’t going to be enough.”

“Good thing it’s not just a few eagles, then,” said Jane, turning the wallet’s contents out. The soft lamplight glimmered on fat gold coins, shiny as butter. Winter’s breath caught in her throat.

“Are those—”

“Noreldrai guineas,” Jane said, her smile as wide and sharp as a knife’s edge. “Donated by good Captain Hessch to the cause of Letting Jane Take Winter To The Opera.”

Winter found herself laughing. It was exactly the sort of ridiculous plan Jane had kept come up with at Mrs. Wilmore’s. _Except no-one’s likely to cane us for this. And we’re not going to throw a bucket of shit at Mary Ellen Todd._

“Well then, _Lady_ Verity,” Winter said, “I suppose I must thank you for this engagement.”

Jane snorted.

“Last I checked, I wasn’t allowed to marry you, Winter.”

Winter blinked. She hadn’t meant that. She was about to reply, but Jane leaned forward and cut her off with a kiss.

“Mmph—”

It lasted for a long time. When they eventually surfaced for air, Jane’s hands were on Winter’s waist, her eyes shining with delight.

“You did say you wanted to see an opera,” she said.

Winter frowned.

“When did I say that?”

“Back at the Prison,” Jane replied, guiding Winter gently over to the seats at the front of the box. A pair of lamps lit the front, letting well-to-do aristocrats be seen as they watched the Opera. Jane snuffed one, and Winter got the other, before finding a seat.

There was a knock at the door. Jane answered, and exchanged a few words with the attendant, muffled by the rich velvet of the box. The door shut, and she heard a few scuffing noises and a fizz.

“Champagne, Captain?” said Jane, her voice obsequious handing her a flute filled with bubbles. Despite herself, Winter giggled.

“You’re really enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”

Jane shrugged. She still smiled, but there was a sadness to it.

“Life can’t all be bloody revolution and smoke-filled battlefields,” she said. She took a long gulp of the champagne. Winter did likewise. The bubbles prickled at her mouth and threatened to spill back up her sinuses. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it would take some getting used to. She took another sip, more cautiously, in an effort to do so.

“Do you ever miss it?” Jane asked, after a long moment. Dimly, Winter noted the orchestra tuning up.

“Miss what?”

“The Prison,” Jane said. “Not Mrs Wilmore and the proctors,” she added, seeing Winter’s expression. “But… us. How we were back then.”

“We still are _us_ ,” Winter said.

“I know, but…” Jane sighed. “We were kids, you know? All we had to worry about was what the proctors were doing and the best way to sneak off without Mrs. Wilmore noticing. Not how many musket cartridges there are in an artillery caisson or who’s running the country.”

“We were kids,” Winter agreed. “But no-one stays that way forever. We were always going to grow up.”

“Into… whatever we are?”

“Would you prefer being whatever Mrs. Wilmore wanted to mould us into?”

For a moment there was a dark shadow in Jane’s eyes.

“You might be right.”

On the stage, the Opera started. Winter squinted at the programme the attendant had handed to her, but the box was too dim for her to make out the words. She heard a clink as Jane set her glass down.

“What’s this one about— oof!”

The programme flew out of Winter’s hand as she suddenly found herself with a lapful of Jane.

“I don’t really care what it’s about,” Jane said, softly, running her hands up Winter’s sides. Winter flailed a little, trying to find somewhere to put her hands, before settling on Jane’s waist. The smell of Jane’s hair filled her lungs, sweeter and softer than it had any right to be.

“I thought we were here to watch the opera,” Winter said, then gasped as Jane leaned down and started laying kisses along her jaw. Jane didn’t reply, but instead deftly slipped the buttons of Winter’s uniform coat open, and moved her lips to Winter’s mouth.

Winter lost herself in the movement and taste of Jane’s mouth against hers, the soft brush of lips and tongue. She felt Jane’s hands untuck her shirt and slide under, her fingertips flickering over Winter’s stomach. After a moment — too short — Jane’s mouth withdrew. Winter opened her eyes. Jane’s gaze was locked to hers, their foreheads touching.

“You know what the nobles get up to in these boxes,” Jane said with a grin. She’d begun to slowly unbutton Winter’s shirt. Winter knew her face must be redder than a Borelgai flag, and her heart thudded faster the signal to charge.

“Jane, we shouldn’t—”

“What?” Jane said, grinning against Winter’s lips. “Afraid someone might walk in?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Winter said. The box had curtains across its front, which Jane had half-drawn, and given that only a few of the boxes were occupied tonight, she didn’t think that anyone would notice they were here, but even so—

“The attendants are used to this,” Jane said. “And no-one’s _interested_. We aren’t worth gossiping about.” She undid the last of Winter’s buttons and leaned back, her eyes shining. “Do you want to stop?”

“I—” Winter wasn’t sure _what_ she wanted. The fear of discovery, ingrained, learned over years, warred in her with the compulsive need to have Jane’s mouth back on her body, to run her hands across every glorious inch of skin, to hear Jane’s gasps and soft curses as they made love. And, at the pit of her stomach, there was a thrill to the idea that, at any moment, someone might walk in and see them. Jane knew that, she reckoned. Winter could see it in her eyes.

In the pause, as Winter warred with herself, Jane moved. Her coat lay pooled on the floor, but she shrugged out of her leather waistcoat and, in one smooth movement, pulled her shirt up over her head, so she was naked from the waist up. Winter blinked, her hands running up Jane’s bare back almost of their own accord.

“That’s not fair,” she managed. Jane’s soft laugh made butterflied leap in her stomach.

“You know what they say about love and war…” Jane said. “Do you want this?”

“ _Yes_ ” Winter whispered. Jane’s smile was wide and knife-edged and wicked as the Beast.

Then they were kissing again, hands roaming up and down each other’s bodies. Winter’s hands found Jane’s shoulders, then her back, then the curve of her behind. Jane detached from Winter’s mouth and kissed her way down across jaw and neck and collarbone and chest. Jane’s fingers whispered across Winter’s stomach, fiddling with the closure of her belt. Dimly, behind the roaring in her ears, Winter heard the overture swing into full life. She gasped as Jane bit at her neck, then shivered as her mouth soothed the mark.

Jane’s clever fingers finally managed to get Winter’s belt undone, and a soft laugh filled Winter’s ears. Jane’s hand slid down, down, across Winter’s stomach and down under the top of her breeches as Jane pressed against her, whispering in her ear—

It was, Winter decided later, a sad summary of the state of her life that it was at that moment that the bomb went off.


End file.
